The Modern British Drama: Comedies

THE

ALCHEMIST.

BEN JONSON.

PROLOGUE.

FORTUNE, that favours fools, these two short hours

We wish away; both for your sakes and ours,
Judging spectators: and desire in place,
To th' author justice, to ourselves but grace.
Our scene is London, 'cause we would make
known,

No country's mirth is better than our own.
No clime breeds better matter for your whore,
Bawd, squire, impostor, many persons more,
Whose manners, now call'd humours, feed the
stage:

And which have still been subject, for the rage
Or spleen of comic-writers. Though this pen

Did never aim to grieve, but better men;
Howe'er the age he lives in, doth endure
The vices that she breeds, above their cure.
But, when the wholesome remedies are sweet,
And, in their working, gain and profit meet,
He hopes to find no spirit so much diseas'd,
But will, with such fair correctives, be pleas'd.
For here, he doth not fear, who can apply.
If there be any, that will sit so nigh
Unto the stream, to look what it doth run,
They shall find things, they'd think, or wish,
were done;

They are so natural follies, but so shown,
As even the doers may see, and yet not own,

THE ARGUMENT.

The sickness hot, a master quit, for fear,
His house in town: And left one servant there.
E ase him corrupted, and gave means to know
A cheater, and his punk; who, now brought low,
Leaving the narrow practice, were become
Cos'ners at large; and, only wanting some
House to set up, with him they here contract,
E ach for a share, and all begin to act.
Much company they draw, and much abuse,
I n casting figures, telling fortunes, news,
Selling of flies, flat bawdry, with the stone:
Till it, and they, and all in fume are gone.

Sub. Thy worst. I fart at thee.

Sub. Since, by my means, translated suburb

captain.

Face. By your means, doctor Dog?

Sub. Within man's memory,

All this I speak of.

Face. Why, I pray you, have I

Dol. Ha' you your wits? Why, gentlemen! Been countenanced by you? or you by me?

for love

Do but collect, sir, where I met you first.
Sub. I do not hear well.

Face. Not of this, I think it,

But I shall put you in mind, sir: at Pye-Corner,
Taking your meal of steam in, from cooks' stalls,
Where, like the father of hunger, you did walk
Piteously costive, with your pinched-horn nose,
And your complexion, of the Roman wash,
Stuck full of black and melancholic worms,
Like powder-corns shot at the artillery yard.
Sub. I wish you could advance your voice a
little.

Face. When you went pinned up in the seve-
ral rags

You'd raked, and picked from dung-hills, before day,

Your feet in mouldy slippers, for your kibes,
A felt of rug, and a thin threaden cloak,
That scarce would cover your no-buttocks-
Sub. No, sir!

Face. When all your alchemy, and your al-
gebra,

Your minerals, vegetals, and animals,
Your conj'ring, coz'ning, and your dozen of trades,
Could not relieve your corps with so much linen
Would make you tinder, but to see a fire;
I ga' you count'nance, credit for your coals,
Your stills, your glasses, your materials,
Built you a furnace, drew you customers,
Advanced all your black arts; lent you, beside,

A house to practise in

Sub. Your master's house.

Of coz'ning with a hollow cole, dust, scrapings,
Searching for things lost with a sieve and shears,

Face. Where you have studied the more thri- Erecting figures in your rows of houses,

ving skill

Of bawdry since.

Sub. Yes, in your master's house.

You and the rats here kept possession.

Make it not strange. I know you were one could keep

The buttry-hatch still locked, and save the chippings,

Sell the dole-beer to aqua-vite men,

The which, together with your Christmas vails,
At post and pair, your letting out of counters,
Made you a pretty stock, some twenty marks,
And gave you credit, to converse with cobwebs,
Here, since your mistress's death hath broke up
house.

Face. You might talk softlier, rascal.

Sub. No, you scarabe,

I'll thunder you in pieces. I will teach you
How to beware to tempt a fury again,
That carries tempest in his hand and voice.
Face. The place has made you valiant.
Sub. No, your cloaths.

Thou vermin, have I ta'en thee out of dung,
So poor, so wretched, when no living thing
Would keep thee company but a spider, or worse?
Raised thee from brooms, and dust, and water-
ing pots?

Sublimed thee, and exalted thee, and fixed thee
I' the third region, called our state of grace?
Wrought thee to spirit, to quintessence, with pains
Would twice have won me the philosopher's work?
Put thee in words and fashion? made thee fit
For more than ordinary fellowships?
Given thee thy oaths, thy quarrelling dimensions?
Thy rules to cheat at horse-race, cock-pit, cards,
Dice, or whatever gallant tincture else?
Made thee a second in mine own great art?
And have I this for thank? do you rebel?
Do you fly out i' the projection?

Would you be gone now?

Dol. Gentlemen, what mean you?

Will you mar all?

Sub. Slave, thou hadst had no name-
Dol. Will you undo yourselves with civil war?
Sub. Never been known, past equi clibanum,
The heat of horse-dung under ground, in cellars,
Or an ale-house darker than deaf John's: been
lost

To all mankind but laundresses and tapsters,
Had not I been.

Dol. Do you know who hears you, sovereign?

Face. Sirrah

Dol. Nay, general, I thought you were civil-
Face. I shall turn desperate, if you grow thus

loud.

Sub. And hang thyself, I care not.
Face. Hang thee, collier,

And all thy pots and pans, in picture I will,
Since thou hast moved me.-

Dol. O, this'll o'erthrow all.

And taking in of shadows with a glass,
Told in red letters; and a face cut for thee,
Worse than Gamaliel Ratsey's.

Dol. Are you sound?

Ha' you your senses, masters?
Face. I will have

A book, but barely reckoning thy impostures,
Shall prove a true philosopher's stone to printers,
Sub. Away, you trencher-rascal.
Face. Out, you dog-leech,
The vomit of all prisons.-
Dol. Will you be

Your own destructions, gentlemen ?
Face. Still spewed out

For lying too heavy o' the basket.
Sub. Cheater.
Face. Bawd.
Sub. Cow-herd.
Face. Conjurer.
Sub. Cut-purse.
Face. Witch.
Dol. O me!

We are ruined! lost! ha' you no more regard
To your reputations? where's your judgment?
S'light,

Have yet some care of me, o' your republic-
Face. Away this brach! I'll bring thee, rogue,
within

The statute of sorcery, tricesimo tertio,
Of Henry VIII; ay, and perhaps thy neck
Within a noose, for laundring gold, and barbing it.
Dol. You'll bring your head within a cock's-
comb, will you?

[She catches out FACE's sword, and breaks
SUBTLE'S glass.]

And you, sir, with your menstrue, gather it up.
'Sdeath, you abominable pair of stinkards,
Leave off your barking, and grow one again,
Or, by the light that shines, I'll cut your throats.
I'll not be made a prey unto the marshal,
For ne'er a snarling dog-bolt o' you both.
Ha' you together cozened all this while,
And all the world, and shall it now be said
You've made most courteous shift to cozen your-
selves?

You will accuse him? You will bring him in
Within the statute? Who shall take your word?
A whoreson, upstart, apocryphal captain,
Whom not a puritan in Black-friars will trust
So much as for a feather! And you, too,
Will give the cause, forsooth? You will insult,
And claim a primacy in the divisions?
You must be chief? as if you only had
The powder to project with? and the work
Were not begun out of equality?

The venter tripartite? all things in common?
Without priority? 'Sdeath, you perpetual curs,
Fall to your couples again, and cozen kindly,
And heartily, and lovingly, as you should,
And lose not the beginning of a term,

Face. Write thee up bawd in Paul's; have all Or, by this hand, I shall grow factious too,

thy tricks

And take my part, and quit you.

Face. 'Tis his fault,

He ever murmurs, and objects his pains,
And says, the weight of all lies upon him.
Sub. Why, so it does.

Dol. How does it? do not we

Sustain our parts?

Sub. Yes, but they are not equal.

Dol. Why, if your part succeed to-day, I hope Ours may to-morrow match it.

Sub. Ay, they may.

Beside, he's busy at his hop-yards now:
I had a letter from him. If he do,
He'll send such word, for airing o' the house,
As you shall have sufficient time to quit it:
Though we break up a fortnight, 'tis no matter.
Sub. Who is it, Dol?

Dol. A fine young quodling.
Face. O,

My lawyer's clerk, I lighted on last night
In Holborn, at the Dagger. He would have

Dol. May, murmuring mastiff? ay, and do. (I told you of him) a familiar,

Death on me!

Help me to throttle him.

Sub. Dorothy, mistress Dorothy,

O'ds precious, I'll do any thing. What do you mean?

Dol. Because o' your fermentation and cibation?

Sub. Not I, by Heaven

Dol. Your Sol and Luna-help me.

Sub. Would I were hanged then. I'll conform myself.

Dol. Will you, sir? do so then, and quickly :

To rifle with at horses, and win cups.
Dol. O, let him in.

Sub. Stay. Who shall do't?
Face. Get you

Your robes on. I will meet him, as going out.
Dol. And what shall I do?

Fuce. Not be seen; away.

Seem you very reserved.
Sub. Enough.

Face. Good be wi' you, sir.

pray you, let him know that I was here.

His name is Dapper. I would gladly have staid, but

SCENE II.

Enter DAPPER.

Dap. Captain. I am here.

Face. Who's that? He's come, I think, doctor.
Good faith, sir, I was going away.

Dap. In truth, I'm very sorry, captain.
Face. But I thought, sure, I should meet you.
Dap. Ay, I'm very glad.

I'd a scurvy writ or two to make,

And I had lent my watch last night to one
That dines to-day at the sheriff's; and so was
robbed

Of my pastime Is this the cunning man ?
Face. This is his worship.

Dap. Is he a doctor?

Face. Faith, he does make the matter, sir, so dainty,

I know not what to say

Dap. Not so, good captain.

Face. Would I were fairly rid on't, believe me.
Dup. Nay, now you grieve me, sir. Why should
you wish so?

I dare assure you I'll not be ungrateful.
Face. I cannot think you will, sir. But the law
Is such a thing-and then he says, Read's matter
Falling so lately-

Dap. Read? he was an ass,
And dealt, sir, with a fool.
Face. It was a clerk, sir.
Dup. A clerk?

Face. Nay, hear me, sir. You know the law
Better, I think-

Dap. I should, sir, and the danger.
You know I shewed the statute to you?
Face. You did so.

Dap. And will I tell, then? By this hand of ↑ flesh,

Would it might never write good court-hand more,
If I discover. What do you think of me?
That I am a Chiause?

Face. What's that?

Dap. The Turk was here-

As one would say, do you think I am a Turk? Face. I'll tell the doctor so.

Dup. Do, good sweet captain.

Face. Come, noble doctor, 'pray thee, let's prevail.

This is the gentleman, and he is no Chiause.
Sub. Captain, I have returned you all my

answer.

I would do much, sir, for your love--But this I neither may nor can.

Face. Tut, do not say so.

You deal now with a noble fellow, doctor.
One that will thank you, richly, and he's no
Chiause:

Let that, sir, move you.

Sub. Pray you, forbear—
Face. He has four angels here-
Sub. You do me wrong, good sir.

Face. Doctor, wherein? To tempt you with these spirits?

Sub. To tempt my art and love, sir, to my peril. 'Fore Heaven, I scarce can think you are my friend,

That so would draw me to apparent danger.

Face. I draw you? A horse draw you, and a halter,

You, and your flies together

Dup. Nay, good captain.

Face. That know no difference of men.
Sub. Good words, sir.

Face. Good deeds, sir, Doctor Dog's-meat. 'Slight, I bring you

No cheating Clim-o'the-cloughs, or Claribels,
That look as big as five-and-fifty, and flush,
And spit out secrets, like hot custard-

Dap. Captain.

Face. Nor any melancholic under-scribe Shall tell the vicar: but a special gentle, That is the heir to forty marks a-year, Consorts with the small poets of the time, Is the sole hope of his old grandmother, That knows the law, and writes you six fair hands, Is a fine clerk, and has his cyphering perfect, Will take his oath o' th' Greek Zenophon, If need be, in his pocket; and can court His mistress out of Ovid.

Dap. Nay, dear captain.

Face. Did you not tell me so so?

Dap. Yes, but I'd ha' you

Use Master Doctor with some more respect. Face. Hang him, proud stag, with his broad velvet head.

But, for your sake, I'd choak, ere I would change
An article of breath with such a puck-fist—
Come, let's begone.

Sub. Pray you, let me speak with you.
Dap. His worship calls you, captain.
Face. I am sorry

Sub. Why, sir

Face. No whispering.

Sub. 'Fore Heaven, you do not apprehend the loss

You do yourself in this.

Face. Wherein? for what?

Sub. Marry, to be so importunate for one,
That, when he has it, will undo you all:
He'll win up all the money i' the town.
Face. How!

-Sub. Yes: and blow up gamester after gamester,

As they do crackers in a puppet-play.
If I do give him a familiar,

Give you him all your play for; never set him:
For he will have it.

Face. You're mistaken, doctor.

Why, he does ask one but for cups, and horses,
A rifling-fly :-none o' your great familiars.
Dap. Yes, captain, I would have it for all
games.

Sub. I told you so.

Face. 'Slight, that's a new business! I understood you, a tame bird to fly Twice in a term, or so; on Friday nights, When you had left the office; for a nag Of forty or fifty shillings.

Dap. Ay, 'tis true, sir,

But I do think now I shall leave the law, And therefore

Face. Why, this changes quite the case! D’you think that I dare move himn ?

Dap. If you please, sir; All's one to him, I see.

Face. What! for that money I cannot with my conscience. Make the request, methinks.

Dap. No, sir, I mean To add consideration.

Fuce. Why, then, sir,

Nor should you

I'll try. Say that it were for all games, doctor? Sub. I say, then, not a mouth shall eat for hin

any ordinary, but o'the score,

That is a gaming mouth, conceive me.

Face. Indeed!

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